Journey
by SpyKid18
Summary: Cristina is drunk and Owen wants to talk about the future.  This is what happens when Cristina Yang decides to try bartending.     Set in 7 x 09.


**A/N: I cannot stop writing these one-shots. Which is probably bad for my finals studying. Enjoy the read and please review. Make my studying sacrifice worthwhile, lol.**

Journey

"We need to talk," Owen said, rubbing circles into her back as she retched again into the toilet. "And you need to drink some water."

"No," Cristina moaned, leaning forward as she continued to dry heave. "No to both."

"You're scaring me, Cristina."

She rested her cheek on the seat of the toilet, scrunching her face up at the taste of her mouth as she asked, "You really think now is a good time for a talk?"

"That's the thing, there is no good time for a talk. I understand that you don't want to talk. I've been there, Cristina. I've pushed people away and I've lost a few good ones because of that. I won't let you push me away."

"It's not the same, Owen," she said, turning her head to spit into the toilet. "And I'm not some broken person. I don't talk because I don't need to talk."

"That's bol, and you know it."

"No," Cristina pressed, sitting up and turning to face him. She leaned against the toilet, setting him with a glare and said, "And don't think that I'm oblivious to what is really going on here."

"What? Cristina-"

"You just want me back at the hospital. That's what you want. You don't want a housewife, you made that much clear. You told me to get a job and I did. I did exactly what you wanted and-"

"You think I want this?" She stared at him defiantly. "You think I wanted you to go and bartend? Give bachelors lap dances?"

Cristina frowned. "I forgot about that."

He leaned forward. "I'll never forget the first time I watched you operate, Cristina. You were fantastic. Every cut, every stitch was meticulously executed. Your concentration was something else in there. You were fully involved, fully committed. You were in your element, Cristina. That is why I want you to go back."

His blue eyes were desperately studying hers, trying to determine whether he had broken through her drunken haze. She turned her face away from his scrutiny but he gently tugged at her chin, pulling her gaze back to him. "Don't," he murmured. "Don't block me out."

"I can't go back," she mumbled.

"We can get you the help you need."

"I'm not some basket case," she spat bitterly. "I don't need help."

"Cristina," he sighed. "You had a gun to your head."

Her eyes snapped to his. "I remember, Owen. Believe me, I remember. Every time I am in an OR, I remember it. Every time I see Derek, or Meredith. Every time I step into that _damn_ hospital."

She began to tremble and he gently stroked her cheek, leaning in closer until their foreheads were touching. She didn't push him away and he gingerly laid a hand on her side. "Let me help you."

"I can't go back," she repeated, shaking her head obstinately. "I-I can't. I see him in every hallway, Owen. I see him in every OR. And I can still hear Meredith's screams and feel my hands in Shepard's chest."

"Cristina," he murmured softly.

"I can't go back."

"Okay," he relented, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."

"No more talking," she said miserably, grasping onto the seat of the toilet behind her as she shakily rose to her feet. He grabbed onto her arm quickly, helping her up as he stood, himself. His arm slipped around her waist and they walked into the bedroom.

"I sucked at bartending, didn't I?" Cristina lamented. Owen chuckled and replied, "Yeah, you kind of did."

"And those lap dances. I didn't give them my best material. I'm better than that, I swear."

"How about we not talk about the lap dances, okay?"

She cast her brown eyes down and mumbled, "Okay."

She climbed into bed and he pulled the covers over her, watching her as she turned onto her side and her eyes drifted shut. He stayed there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, until she opened her eyes and said, "Come to bed, Owen."

He slipped in beside her, fully clothed, and moved an arm around her waist. Her body was warm, and he pulled her closer, despite the cloying scent of beer and vomit that clung to her skin. He pressed a kiss beneath her ear and murmured, "I love you, Cristina, and all I want is for you to be happy."

"Then let me sleep," she grumbled.

He smiled slightly and nodded, "Alright. Good night, Cristina."

She didn't answer but covered his arm with her own, her fist closing around his hand. Despite the long day, he didn't find himself tired. Eyes wide open, he listened to the sound of her breathing, gauging her finally asleep when it settled into a steady rhythm. His thoughts drifted to that scene from the bar. The Cristina he saw there was not the woman he fell in love with. She lacked her drive, her ambition. That shooter had robbed her of that, and he felt familiar bitterness clench his jaw.

He would get her back, though. The woman-the surgeon-he loved was still there. He didn't know how long it would take for her to come around, but he would do whatever it took to help her. Because-although it pained him to admit it- Meredith was right. His wife belonged in an OR and he knew she would never be fully satisfied until she was back in one. If only she could recognize that.

And so, the journey continued.

**A/N: Thoughts? Were they in character? Did you like it? Let me know!**


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